


Smoke Break

by faxmachine



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn, unedited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faxmachine/pseuds/faxmachine
Summary: They were ghosts—completely unidentifiable—and that was all investigators needed to tie the dozens of bodies together. Do old obligations take precedent over new ones?





	Smoke Break

**Author's Note:**

> Will edit as future chapters are posted.

The kid always worried him, they hadn’t worked together long, but his past was written all over his face and body. Never smiled, unless it was a social expectation; mind-boggling no one else seemed to notice it. He was depressed, looked like a speed addict, dark circles under his eyes, too skinny, tattoos everywhere; hands with death spelled in ink across the fingers—looked to be stick n’ poke. They were working together for the third time on another case involving several dead bodies. They just don’t stop piling up.

He was doing his residency, allegedly fresh out of medical school, started here only months ago. Smoker made it a habit to learn about him, in looks alone he was fascinating. It could be construed as creepy if anyone were to learn about said hobby, but he wasn’t careless—kept his mouth shut. There wasn’t anything to it; he saw himself in the young resident. 

“More?” Law sounded bored, like there were other things on his mind with greater importance than the murder victims in front of him. It was typical of people in this field, but not usually right out of med school. That told him Trafalgar was already used to death long before working here. 

“All with the same perfect fake IDs.” Smoker caught a glimpse of something in Law’s eye when he said that, if it wasn’t his job, he might’ve thought it was his imagination. The look was faint, but fear was there. He could hide it as much as he wanted to, the detective would never be fooled by the act.

“Hm.” Law attempted to sound bored and was mostly successful—were it not for his previous look. “Guess we’ll have to find out who they are another way.” 

Smoker rubbed the back of his head, he had been debating on asking the question for a while. The last time they finished working together he promised himself he’d do it the next time he saw the guy. “Hey, you look pretty tired, you wouldn’t mind it if I took you for coffee, would you?” 

He looked genuinely taken aback, it was one of the first times Smoker had seen Law while he wasn’t acting. “I do like free things.” His version of a joke? Cute. 

“When are you off?”

Law looked at his watch, “About four hours ago.” 

“They really work you guys to the bone here, huh? I guess the residents are everyone’s bitch. Just think, in a couple years you’ll have your own.” Smoker laughed patting the shorter male on his back. There was a smile on his face—however slight.

Law returned the laugh, “Nahh, I just have nothing better to do.” 

“Not even sleep?” 

Law stiffened, but seemed to force his muscles to relax after. “Oh yeah, that.” He said it jokingly, probably felt cornered. This was the best way to avoid discussing his obvious insomnia—like Smoker didn’t already know. 

“Since you’re off, why don’t we go for drinks instead?” Much easier to get people opening up when they’re drunk. Law was thin, it wouldn’t take much to get him wasted and he was sure the doctor would appreciate letting off some steam. 

Law shrugged, “I’m down.” 

“You from around here?” Smoker already knew the answer, but he couldn’t let Law know just how much the detective already learned about him. He guided them towards a bar that was reliably empty around this time. 

“Sort of. You?” The response was curt with a voice that implied he had done the same thing as the detective. Heartwarming, he hadn’t thought himself important enough to warrant the doctor’s curiosity. 

“Sort of.” He said it with a smile in his voice. This kid was quick. He held the door open for the shorter male, which earned him a look of confusion and then acceptance as he walked through. 

Smoker wasted no time ordering something strong for the both of them. 

“What made you ask me here tonight?” Law was looking at him, but not in the eyes. He seemed more interested in studying Smoker’s facial expressions—a game the detective would gladly play. 

“I’ll be frank with you. I think you’re attractive and I wanted to get to know you.” He smiled, Law wasn’t expecting that answer, even though he already knew it. Drinks were at the table as soon as he finished speaking—the younger male grabbed for one immediately, drinking fast, awkwardly. No longer playing cool? 

The look of calm returned to his face, “I haven’t had a drink in a while. Thanks for this.” He lifted the glass up with the thanks. Conveniently changing the subject. 

“I would think you got asked out all the time.” Smoker grabbed for his own drink, it wasn’t as strong as he would have liked. Law looked amused, turned on even. The detective doubted the resident would ever admit it. 

“Since working here? Just you.” It showed already in his voice that he was drunk, he must not have eaten today—no way the alcohol would hit him this fast if he ate regularly. 

“Guess I got lucky being the first.” Smoker flagged a waitress down to order food for the two of them. 

Countless uncomfortable silences and awkward questions later, Law became uncharacteristically loud, speaking freely—trips purpose was met. “And another thing!” He said throwing a hand in the air, as if pointing in accusation at Smoker. “I know who killed those people. I can’t prove it, but I know. I just know it was him. I know it.”

“Woah, slow down there. What’re you talking about.” He didn’t look worried enough to be serious, yet seemed too drunk to be capable of lying.

Law folded himself across the table, the alcohol making him drowsy. Smoker should have cut him off several drinks ago, but far be it from him to tell a grown man how much he can drink.

“My makeshift family. I know it was them, that’s why all the bodies end up at my place of work. Serial killers aren’t dumb enough to kill repeatedly in the same place. These kills weren’t done by one person, they’re just supposed to look like they were. You cops you’re all idiots and fall for it every time. They just fabricate serial killers to do what they want and move when... when...” the slurring in the resident’s speech wasn’t noticeable until the last few things said before he stopped. “I forgot what I was talking about.”

The man across from him rubbed a tattooed hand across his head, as if it hurt. Smoker pushed a full glass of water towards him. “You should drink some—“

“Let’s go to your house. Fuck it. If that’s what they want to do: I’ll do what I want to do. I said I was out. I said it.” Law looked at Smoker, sternly, “I told them I was out.” His lips pouted, just enough to highlight the emotional gravity of the statement as well as how piss-drunk he was.

“Wouldn’t you rather go home?” 

Law glared at him. “Two adults don’t go out for drinks and not fuck.” 

“What if I don’t want to fuck?” Smoker was playing coy, though the resident’s level of intoxication did worry him.

Law stood up, holding onto the table to appear more balanced. “There’s no time for questions you don’t need to ask.” He grabbed Smoker’s hand, pulling the detective out of his seat. 

“Alright, I guess I’ll take you home.” He threw an arm around the shorter male, “We need a cab. Neither of us should drive.” 

The drive home was filled with Law and the cab driver talking, often even at the same time, yet both capable of comprehending each other. It was mindless babble about some comic, he didn’t realize the resident would be into something so childish. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Law had said. It was easy to dismiss it as the ramblings of someone who drank too much, but could the resident have organized crime ties? It’d be a pretty big loss for them to no longer have their hands on the guy. 

“I didn’t expect you to live in such a nice place.” Law’s version of flirting needed some work. Smoker supported the resident as they walked into the lobby, waiting for an elevator. The security were looking judgmentally in his direction. 

“Surprise.” Law laughed far too hard at that response. He wanted to let himself bask in the laughter, allow himself to loosen up, but nothing about the man’s actions were authentic to who he was sober. Why laugh at something that ordinarily wouldn’t be considered funny. 

The minute Law realized they were alone and in an elevator headed several floors up he tried to press their lips together. This wasn’t right, nor was it his intention. He should have planned better—he didn’t. 

“Are you trying to tell me I went home tonight with someone who isn’t even interested?” Law slouched against the opposing wall, scowling—eyes on the screen telling them which floor they elevator was passing.

“It’s my preference that all parties can consent.” 

“Whatever, gramps.” Law said it under his breath but it was meant to be heard. The way he was throwing a fit was cute; Smoker couldn’t deny it. The elevator door opened; they moved to the apartment as fast as they could. 

Law was quicker than Smoker, straddling the detective as soon as he sat on the couch. “Law.” He gently shoved the shorter man to the side. “You don’t—“

The resident’s lips were preventing him from speaking, tongue snuck into his mouth. Law tasted good—distractingly good. All the good intentions were gone, he tried; it didn’t work. There was something magnetic about the interaction.

Law pulled away, “That all it takes to make you give in?” His smile was deceptive, it would look natural on him if it weren’t for his personality. 

“I’ve read up on you.” May as well get it out. He grabbed for a cigarette. 

“I know.” 

“What’s someone like you doing at this hospital?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Law’s lips were tight together, corners up only at the left end. This was a game to him; a game to them both. 

“You know what your record looks like. Why somewhere as low class as here?”

“You ever think I just wanted to help the people who could use it the most?” Law slid off Smoker’s lap, he was glaring now. The guy must be going through a lot to willingly get this drunk in front of a near stranger—clearly couldn’t hold his alcohol; no way he didn’t already know it. Such a calculated and meticulous person only does this when they mean to let go. 

“There are better places to do that.” 

“I wanted a change of scenery, ok?” The frustration Law exuded told anyone paying attention not to ask anymore questions. Smoker didn’t heed the warning; didn’t need to. 

“Who are you running from?” 

Law exhaled a laugh—more of a sharp hiss. “All your research and you don’t know? You’ve heard of the organization Joker. Yeah.” 

Smoker gave an impressed whistled. “What made you get involved with a bunch like that?”

“Stuff happened in my childhood. You won’t read about it anywhere.” 

“Then you’re at no risk to tell me more?” The older man was confident Law would answer. 

“There was a quarantine about 16 years ago on an island in a territory of this country. Quarantine was their fun word for culling a political uprising. I’m all that’s left. I was dying and figured why not and that’s how I joined the mob.” There was a pause, Smoker didn’t want to say anything if Law wasn’t finished. They both waited for the other to speak. Law’s tongue clicked against his teeth. “So are we for sure not fucking or do I still have a shot?”

“Honestly? I’d rather make you something to eat.” This was not the right thing to say, but it was true. Law didn’t seem to appreciate the truth of the statement. 

“If that’s it, I’m just going to head home.” Moping—wonder what it would take to make him mope sober.

“You’re too drunk to be traveling at this time of night.”

“Why are you larping as my mother?” Larping, haven’t heard that one. I’ll have to ask someone what it means later. 

“Nope, just another responsible adult acting like a responsible adult.”

“You’re going to be severely disappointed if you asked me out in hopes of fixing me.” Bitterness was all Smoker could hear, someone had tried that before then? 

“Taking care of you while you’re very drunk isn’t the same as me trying to change you. It’s my fault you got drunk in the first place, it’s only right.” This seemed to calm him; he sat back down. “I don’t want to change you. I want to get to know you. Why would I try fixing someone I know nothing about?”

Law put on a mocking voice, “But what about all your research?” Laughing to himself as soon as he finished asking the question.

“You already know the research told me nothing about you.” Was dropping his guard also an act—a test? He knew he shouldn’t look at people this way, but it would be a fun figuring out when the resident was being genuine and when he wasn’t. The acting skills were unparalleled.

“Yeah, well at least you can admit it. Give me a cigarette.” They smoked in silence, both in deep thought about their night’s choices.

The night blurred, and Law woke to his first hangover. What better place than at a perfect stranger’s house? Great, awesome. Calling in was tempting, but he didn’t want to spend the rest of the day bored if he felt better in a few hours. He didn’t remember getting in bed with the detective; nor becoming a little spoon. Law made the dumbest decisions when he wasn’t sober—knew it too.

He tried getting up, figuring he could sneak off without waking the detective up, but was trapped. The more he woke up the more he realized how bad the situation was. A blanket was wrapped around them both, not only was Law laying on top of it, Smoker was too. Without waking up the detective he wouldn’t be able to get out. 

One of the man’s legs was in between Law’s own, which created uncomfortable friction. All he wanted to do was get up. Everything felt vaguely damp, as if they had both been sweating despite it being fairly cold. The dampness was particularly noticeable where the taller man’s leg wedged itself. 

Then it hit him, he hadn’t taken suppressants in 24 hours—maybe this wasn’t a hangover. He tried again to move, but once again all that managed to do was make him less comfortable. Leaving Smoker’s house now wasn’t exactly an option, how could he be such an idiot? 

Struggling to get out of bed continued to make things worse, until his situation was certain. “Wake up.” He shook himself, trying to get the detective to wake up, but he only tightened his arms around Law. Feeling like all options were exhausted, he waited for Smoker’s alarm to go off. It felt like hours had gone by—his body temperature progressively rose; there was no mistake—this was happening. 

He groaned in pain–mostly. If the legal system wasn’t so fucking obsessed with making life as difficult for him as possible this wouldn’t be happening. It was illegal to take anything stronger than a 24 hour suppressant. Even he knew how to make ones that lasted for several months, getting caught with them was considered a severe legal offense and he wasn’t too keen on stepping back into the other side of the law. 

“Mm ... you okay?” Groggy voice pulled him from fantasies of killing every lawmaker and politician that caused this to happen. 

“No. I’m about to go into heat.” 

“Mmm ... hhh-that’s good.” The detective yawned, probably taking time to process what was just said. “Wait.” He sounded more alert, finally. “You’re what?” If he realized what was happening, his grip on Law gave no indication. 

“I’m going into heat.” 

“b-But you’re not an omega?” Finally he loosened his grip and realized how fucked up the blankets were as he tried pulling away. 

“Yeah, that’s how I try to live, obviously.” He was pissed and had every reason to be. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you go to the store and grab me some. I have money in my wallet ... wherever that is.” 

Smoker rubbed his face, moving his leg from between Law’s. The lack of friction was both more comfortable and less satisfying. “Yeah, of course, of course. I had no idea.” He kept mumbling random shit to himself, stumbling around the bedroom fishing various clothes up from the ground. “I’ll be right back.” 

Law rolled his eyes when he heard the front door to Smoker’s apartment open and close. Way to out myself the first time I spend my free time with a colleague. Heat pains acted up as soon as the detective left. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle by himself—annoying he had to do it at all. 

By the time Smoker came back he was in the middle of the bed, under every blanket, curled in a ball. He knew he wasn’t actually cold, but his body didn’t. “Geez, mother nature sure didn’t make it easy on you guys.” The detective lifted up the blankets tossing them to the side—handing Law the pills and a bottle of water. 

He was shivering despite his best efforts to hold himself still. These would take 12 hours to work, by that time he would need to take a second dose. Finishing the bottle of water he rested his head back down on the bed. “Sorry, I hadn’t planned on not going home last night.” Was all he could think of to say. It was humiliating needing help from someone else—this was exactly how the government wanted him to be. He scowled into the mattress

“It’s my fault. I gave you no time to plan. I didn’t know you were an omega. They’re rare—I assumed you were a beta. Being around me can’t help, I probably triggered it.”

Law wanted the man to stop talking. Every sound was annoying. He groaned again, in frustration more than anything. 

“You must have friends in high places for someone like you to have a job in medicine.” The man stopped talking. Law liked to think he finally noticed how he sounded—unlikely. 

“It’s a myth that it’s illegal for omegas to have stressful jobs. It’s only the pregnant ones that aren’t allowed to work and I’m not getting pregnant.” He clenched his jaw, wishing he was home. If only teleportation was already invented. 

“I guess I never thought about how inconvenient the 24 hour suppressant mandate is.” Smoker was rubbing the back of his hair, he clearly didn’t know what he was supposed to do in this situation; Law didn’t know either. He had always been careful—never let anything like this happen in the past. 

“I guess it’s still better than back in the day where we had no choice—glad I wasn’t alive then.”

“The population has risen a bit since, but now that it’s back in a dive they’ll probably try to ...” The man knew how fucked up the words he was about to say were, because he stopped talking. They both knew it would come to that—a problem for another time. “Do you want something to eat? I’ll make you something to eat. Do you like toast, eggs?”

Law grimaced, “Anything but toast.” Smoker walked away, closing the bedroom door behind him. It was nice to have a semblance of privacy, but he wanted blood over how bad this day was going; he swallowed thankful the detective wasn’t ... conventional.

He didn’t realize he had fallen back asleep until there was a plate of food in front of him. “mmthanks.” He haphazardly grabbed a fork hanging off the plate, stabbing at nothing in particular. He needed food—pain from not eating. 

This was never going to happen again. He would never go out with anyone again, no matter how lonely he was. He debated carrying around suppressants in the future, but he didn’t want anyone to catch him with them. The food was gone; Smoker was not a good cook. 

He left Law alone for the rest of the day—thank fuck. It gave him time to think about the case at hand. All the murder victims brought in weren’t from this city. Their identities were clearly labelled yet in no national or international registry. 

The obvious answer: all identification was faked—highest quality in the world; virtually perfect. The quality of it made him think it was an inside job to throw investigators off, but when the dental records came back they didn’t match anyone either. That didn’t sit right with Law, as several of them had fillings and one had a tooth implant registered to a doctor that existed, but insisted he had never seen or heard of the person. 

It would be easy to say someone had stolen the dental implant and inserted it into the victim, but the quality of the job implied the only person who could have done it was that dentist. Feds weren’t on the case yet—nothing to link the murders together until now; no legal way to find out who any of these people were. 

He hadn’t shared this with the police yet, he was supposed to be writing his report today. Ordinarily he would be—pain or not—but today he stayed in bed. He couldn’t exactly get anything done in Smoker’s apartment—not without any of his files. If he was home it would be done.

One night of trying to have a good time and this is what it gets him. Smoker knowing about him probably improved his chances with him; cost wasn’t anything he wanted to pay. It was already done. This could be fun?

It was rare to find someone as respectful as Smoker. Say what can be said, but he had an integrity about him. The unwavering dedication to his values was moving in a way that brought relief. Many times Law saw people sacrifice everything they had claimed to care about for some selfish wish fulfillment. 

He wanted something to believe in; no concern for what it was. It’s not like he was going to place all his bets on a guy he barely knew—despite all of the people who stood for nothing, it was nice to know Smoker. 

If he said the twelve hours felt like they passed quickly he would be lying. Time dragged on, every second felt like a minute—minute an hour—so on. When he could take the next dose he was happy, but sore from being in bed for so long. Smoker liked a firm mattress. 

“So you’re better?” Was the first thing he heard while opening the door. It was bright, but his eyes adjusted fast. Hair matching the smoke hanging in a cloud around the detective—they seemed to blend together. It reminded him of a cemetery in the morning—the strange fog that hung low to the ground; covered the ground, but didn’t obstruct anything above your shoes.

He was worried, not in words or even body-language, the room showed it. Alcohol, several empty packs of cigarettes, plates of partially eaten food resting in the kitchen—the house was a wreck. 

“Yeah. I’m better. I’ll head out now. Thanks for everything.” He paused, remembering the most important thing to say, “Please don’t talk about this to anyone ... ever?” Spoken as a question, but it was a command. 

“I can drive you home?” It was a plea. 

“Nah, I’d rather be alone.” 

Smoker nodded his head—that was that. He walked home, even though it was far. He needed something to do that wasn’t being in bed. 

“Law ... Didn’t expect to see you here.” That voice even sounded like a smirk was on the face of the familiar speaker. This wasn’t anyone he wanted to deal with right now. 

“Having fun at work?” The man was impossibly tall and stronger for it. He spoke as if he told a joke deserving of an audience—he didn’t. He was smiling; par for the course. 

“No, Vergo. Strangely enough, I’m not.” He was upset and saw no reason to hide that from this conversation. 

“That’s Mr. Vergo to you, kid.” He rested his hand heavily on Law’s shoulder, looking at him expectantly. 

Law glared as a response, he wasn’t going to address Vergo as a superior.

“You can act grownup all you want, but I know you’re that weak little kid. Why are you doing this to yourself? You belong to me. I’ll let you make a fool out of yourself for a while longer. You can continue enjoying your youth by ignoring your responsibilities and purpose in life, but soon I’ll come to collect what’s mine.” It wasn’t a threat; a reminder—a promise. 

His shoulder was squeezed tightly; Vergo wasn’t stopping. Law knew what he needed to do in order to stop the treatment—his pride was far more important. He shrugged his shoulder sharply downwards; time was not given for Vergo to keep up. 

He kicked his leg at Vergo’s, but the man moved out of the way—he predicted this movement. “It’s okay. I’ll give you enough time to grow up.” Fist landed on his head, like a falling boulder, he was on the ground. “Say it.” 

The side of Law’s lips quirked up, he wasn’t going to submit and that made Vergo furious. Foot to stomach–flying; ordinarily he would stand a better chance, but not today—not tonight. “No bite or bark today? That’s not very fun, Law.” 

“Hate to disappoint you.” He could barely choke out the words, blood spilled over the side of his lip—like drool. 

Vergo hummed, placated by the words. “That’s the spirit.” 

He was flipped over by another kick, now on his stomach he awaited the heel that was always going to end this conversation. Darkness brought short-lived peace. 

Law knew where he was—that was the problem. He had been expecting to wake up where he was beaten unconscious or even his apartment. He wasn’t that lucky—the rest of the day had been an omen.

“Guess how long it’s been?” Vergo was smirking. He tried sitting up, but everything started spinning ever faster so he set his head back down. A dull throb was felt as soon as he made contact with the pillow. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was wheezing; ribs were broken. Someone was generous enough to patch him up—the job was shoddy and Law could have done better.

“We’re going to play a game, if you’re good you might even enjoy it.” 

Law’s expression was unwaveringly apathetic; Vergo didn’t appreciate it. He wanted to extract terror from the resident and wasn’t going to get it. The towering man’s mouth became a thin line, barely holding back the physical aggression waiting to be released. “Ok, we will do it the way you want it done.” 

He walked to the side of the bed, leaning down far closer than Law ever wanted. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I wasn’t there by accident. I can smell you from anywhere. Mask it all you want. You can’t escape me.”

He wasn’t going to cower, he was used to this. He never shies away from a fight—they can’t beat that out of him. Vergo clenched his fists. Law knew the hands wanted to be driven through his body. He glared at the taller man, refusing to break eye contact. 

Vergo’s muscles relaxed and he started laughing. “I guess you do need reminding of who you are and who I am.” His voice changed to mock concern, “Hope your work understands when I call you in.” He brushed his hand over Law’s cheek—faux tenderness. He flinched at the touch; action pleasing Vergo.

“What are you talking about?” Sadism on Vergo’s face—the kind he hid from those working under him. It was the kind of look seen just before getting murdered—the kind of face Vergo would call a smile. He’d seen before unconsciousness enough times. Law shouldn’t have asked; shouldn’t have taken the bait. Speaking before thinking—dangerous.

“It was generous of them to hire you when you’re such a liability.” His smile was slight—malice more noticeable. “It’s the law. Isn’t that lucky for you?” He brushed the hair out of Law’s face—keeping the act up. People were toys to this man. “All places of employment are required to allow time off during these special circumstances.”

Law knew, but he didn’t want to. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” He stood tall again, eclipsing the light from the window at his back. Gone was any readable expression on his face. “You’ve grown too arrogant for my tastes while you’ve been shirking your responsibilities as mine. You’ll be in here the duration, I will not help you if you’re going to act tough when we both know how weak you are. All my wrath is something you asked for. Show me respect and I can make life so much easier.” He playfully slapped the side of Law’s face to make his point. 

“Do you think I want to hurt a cute little thing like you?” It was a masturbatory rhetorical question. Jerking himself off to how great he thinks he is—what else is new? “Hurting someone like you is beneath me, but I can’t let my own property be disrespectful. I hold back on you, you know? If you just behaved...” 

Law shrugged. So be it. He’d escape. “I can handle myself. I don’t need help from an alpha who can’t even command respect from an omega he views as an inferior.” Containing smirks wasn’t something he was capable of when Vergo looked this angry. His face was red even down his neck; taking a beating would be worth it. 

Vergo controlled himself, relaxing his muscles, skin returning to its usual color. “I’ll give you an hour and see how your attitude adjusts.” He turned to look in the corner of the room, pointing to what Law could only guess was a camera. “I’ll be watching. We’ll discuss how respectful you can be later.” He backhanded Law, before walking out.

Any footage Vergo got of him was no doubt going to be kept and archived. He’d have to test their reaction time to him attempting an escape. The window appeared to be unlocked, though they were several stories above the ground.

The bedroom door was surely locked, though he hadn’t been up to try it yet. It was the only feasible way out of the room. It looked like it could be easily broken, Vergo was relying too heavily on heat debilitating Law. 

He sat up, yep. Ribs were definitely broken. That sucked. He threw off the blankets. Naked. Alright. Great. Blood trickled down his face and onto the bed sheet from the lip Vergo had just split. 

Even though he had to cling to the wall to stand he still made it to the window. 40 floors from the ground, the very top of the building—Vergo’s home. He smiled at the camera opening the window. If Vergo wanted to play they could play chicken. 

It wouldn’t be impossible to climb down if the circumstances were different; circumstances were not different. What if he jumped? Vergo would probably take that as a win. He closed the window to stare at the ceiling vents—too small to fit through. 

Walking to the door was more difficult and with less of a reward. Locked. He leaned against it, gauging durability—not very strong. He could break out of the room, which meant the floor was difficult to leave. Vergo’s overconfidence was on his side to an extent—not without warrant. 

He walked to the bed—only thing in the room—and gently moved himself onto it. There wasn’t a light, nor a bathroom. What was he expected to do? Didn’t matter, he would only worry about escaping. He’d have to wait until Vergo was gone and the staff was least suspecting—early morning. 

Annoyingly familiar pain was returning; Vergo had taunted him with the time—it was time. He must have been out for over 24 hours. What day was it? He keeled to his side, sweating—freezing. If he acted desperate for the blankets then Vergo would take them as another form of leverage. Should he even be on the bed? He frowned in thought as the door opened. 

“Feeling better?” Most people with Vergo’s temperament are incapable of faking compassion—he mimicked it perfectly. He could convince anyone to perceive him as good natured. No one outside of a small circle thought of him as sinister and lived much afterwards. Those allowed to know admired him for it—not Law. 

“Peachy keen.” He forced his face to relax. It wasn’t something he’d said before, but it felt right. Steadying his breath took most of his attention. 

“You’re going to act fine when you’ve been recorded all this time? You’re pathetic.” Vergo’s face was hardened. “Have you learned your lesson?”

Now, Law knew the correct answer to this question would be something along the lines of: “Yes, Mr. Vergo, Sir.” The guy’s a fucking freakshow. He rolled his eyes in response. He knew what the action meant and that gave him time to brace for impact. 

Hand yanked hair; Law’s head pulled backwards. When did Vergo get this close? Must be really out of it, because that looked like teleportation to him.

Vergo spoke smoothly as if he was sweet talking his way to a promotion. “You know I could kill you with one of my fingers? Just one. My little pinky.” He wiggled the finger in front of Law’s face, before driving it through the wall the bed was pressed against—bricks.

“So do it.” Law responded as casually as he could. He learned from the best—would play like the best. Throbbing body—he’d deal with it. 

Vergo clicked his tongue as if he was scolding a young child. “So bratty.” Voice was flat. “I’m not going to destroy what belongs to me. I’m showing you how much I hold back when you need reprimanded.” 

“Wow. Generous.” Sarcasm—natural response. 

Vergo took his free arm and held it above Law’s face, it was bare. “Get a good look.” The arm turned black, in a way that didn’t feel real. It looked like the absence of matter in the shape of an arm—no light escaped. 

He’d never seen anything like this before—some sort of technology? 

Vergo gently dragged his hand through the brick wall, scattering dust and fragments all through the room. It looked like a slow-motion version of an object moving impossibly fast through the wall. 

If he was afraid of dying, he would have been terrified, but he wasn’t afraid of dying. When Vergo finished Law shrugged, which hurt given he was pulled backwards with several broken ribs. “I already told you. Do it. I don’t care. If you’re not going to kill me this display doesn’t mean anything. If you are going to kill me? This display still doesn’t mean anything.” He was surprised Vergo let him talk for as long as he did—the man smiled. Law contained his shock.

“Even when you’re powerless you’re still unafraid, that’s why I picked you.” 

Bait. He’d take it. “Picked me?”

“You think you’re the only Trafalgar D. Water Law? You think I’m the only Vergo?” Vergo let Law’s hair drip through his hand—release was a comfort; Law said nothing. “Out of all of you.” Finger lightly pressed against his nose, “You are the weakest.” 

Law snorted, accidentally, but, shit, it was worth dying over. “So you can only handle the weakest me that’s half your age?” Yeah, what Vergo was saying sounded insane, but Law knew if Vergo was saying it like this that he meant it.

The idea wasn’t too surprising to him, he didn’t think it would be to anyone nowadays––everyone was always talking about time-travel and multiple dimensions like they were tangible things. Now he knew. 

“The rest of you die too quickly.” 

“Uh, huh. Of course.”

“You’re the only one whose universe gives you ties to me and renders you physically incapable of fighting back. What I like is that you still act as if it’s possible. That’s why you’re alive. You’ll never be a threat.” Vergo sighed happily, sitting on the bed. “Go ahead, do anything to me. You won’t be capable of scratching me.”

“Oh, right, because I couldn’t understand that from your sideshow brick display.” He nodded his head in mock agreement. His face was still flat—apathetic.

“You’d be considered capable if I didn’t decide to visit. That’s why you’re mine.”

It wasn’t in his best interest—he asked anyway. “What of the Vergo from here?”

“You killed him.” Vergo looked at the watch on his hand. “Last month.” 

Was Law smug? Yeah. He was. So if the universe worked the way it was supposed to he would find a way to kill this one too––where was the memory?

The smarmy joy of killing Vergo clung to his face. “Guess you know what to expect, then, huh?”

Vergo grabbed Law pulling him harshly against his chest. Ribs, heat, bruising, great. “It wouldn’t be fun if I broke you in all at once. You’re lucky I come here for enjoyment.” 

His back was rubbed and he wanted to relax into it. He wasn’t against comfort—where it came from? A different story. He didn’t need to check to know he wouldn’t be able to move. Smoke fell from the vent. 

Smoke fell from the vent?

Vergo shoved Law to the side, brick shards pressed into his skin. He used it as an opportunity to dart out the door––unlocked. Vergo wasn’t coming, which meant things were going badly enough to merit his attention.

No visible staff. Remembering he was naked ... his pride guided him to Vergo’s room, he would steal clothes from the man nearly twice his height. Shirt alone was long enough—would have to do.

Shattering glass, reminded him to get the fuck out of the building. He took the fire escape. It felt like his ribs were moving unnaturally. He was in public, outside, in nothing but a shirt, in heat. Not ideal.

“Kid!” Pulling him from worry, he heard a gruff yell—too loud to be a whisper, despite its attempt to sound like one. Smoker?


End file.
